The March winds were calming. Colourful spring blossoms spread their fragrance through the air – eve into the shower room, where I washed the sweat and soreness from my body after an energy filled workout.

I dressed quickly and skipped down the rear steps of Harmon Gym to watch the sky over Edwards field turn orange with the sun’s final glow. The cool air refreshed me. Relaxed and at peace with the world, I ambled downtown to get my cheeseburger on the way to the U.C theatre. Tonight they are showing The Great Escape, about a daring escape of British and American prisoners of war.

When the film was over I jogged up University Avenue towards the campus, heading left to Shattuck, and arrived at the station soon after Socrates come on duty. It was a busy night, so I helped him until just after midnight. We went into the office and washed our hands, after which he surprised me by stating to fix a Chinese dinner – and begin a new phase of teaching.

It started when I told him about the movie.

“Sounds like an exciting film,” he said, unpacking the bag of fresh vegetables he had bought in, “and an appropriate one, too.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“You, too, Dan, need to escape. You’re a prisoner of your own illusions – about yourself and about the world. To cut yourself free, you’re going to need more courage and strength than any hero.”

I felt so good that night I just couldn’t take Soc seriously at all. “I don’t feel like I
am in a prison. – except when you have me strapped in the chair.”

He began washing his vegetables. Over the sound of running water, he commented, “You don’t see your prison because its bars are invisible. Part of my task is to point out your predicament and I hope it is the most disillusioning experience of your life.”

“Well thanks a lot, friend.” I said, surprised at his ill wishes.

“I don’t think you understand.” He pointed a turnip to me, and then sliced it in the bowl. “Disillusion is the greatest gift I can give you. But, because of your fondness for illusion, you consider the term negative. You commiserate with a friend by saying, “oh, what a disillusioning experience that must have been,” when you ought to be celebrating with it. The word dis-illusion is literally a “freeing from illusion.” But you cling to your illusions.”

“Facts,” I challenge him.

“Facts,” he said, tossing aside the tofu he’d been dicing. “Dan, you are suffering: you do not fundamentally enjoy your life. Your entertainments, your playful affairs, and even your gymnastics are temporary ways of distracting you from your underlying sense of fear.”

“Wait a minute Soc.” I was irritated. “Are you saying that gymnastics and sex and movies are bad?”

“Of course not. But for you they’re your addictions, not enjoyments. You use them to distract you from your chaotic inner life – the parade of regrets, anxieties, and fantasies, you call your mind.”

“Wait, Socrates. Those aren’t facts.”

“Yes, they are, and they are entirely veritable, even though you don’t see it yet. In your habitual quest for achievement and entertainment, you avoid the fundamental source of your suffering.” He paused. “That was not something you really wanted to hear, was it?”

“Not particularly. And I don’t think it applies to me. You have anything a little more upbeat?” I said.

“Sure,” he said, picking up his vegetables and resuming his chopping. “The truth is that life is going wonderfully for you and the you’re not really suffering at all. You don’t need me and you’re already a warrior. How does that sound?”

“Better!” I laughed. But I knew it wasn’t true. “The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle; don’t you think?”

Without taking his eyes of the vegetables, Socrates said “you ‘in between is hell, from my perspective.”

Defensively I ask, “is it just me who’s a moron, or do you specialise in working with the spiritually handicapped?”

“You might say that,” He smiled, pouring sesame oil on a wok and setting it on the hot plate to warm. “But nearly all of humanity shares your predicament.”

“And what predicament is that?”

“I thought I had already explained that?” he said patiently. “If you don’t get what you want, you suffer. If you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can’t hold onto it forever. Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change, free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is a law, no amount of pretending will alter that reality.

“Socrates, you can really be depressing, you know that? I don’t think I’m even hungry anymore.” “If life is nothing but suffering. Then why bother at all?”

“Life is not suffering, it is just you will suffer it rather than enjoy it, until you let go of your mind’s attachments and just go for the ride freely, no matter what happens.”

Socrates dropped the vegetables and tofu into the sizzling wok, stirring. A delicious aroma filled the office as he dove the crisp vegetables into plates and set them on his old desk, which serves as our dining table.

“I think I just got my appetite back.” I said.

Socrates laughed, then ate in silence, talking small morsels with his chopsticks. I gobbled the food in about thirty seconds; I guess I was really hungry. While Socrates finished his meal, I asked him, “So what are the positive uses of the mind?”

He looked up from his plate. “There aren’t any.” With that, he calmly returned to his meal.

“Aren’t any! Socrates, that’s really crazy. What about the creations of the mind? The book, libraries, arts? What about all the advances of our society that were generated by brilliant minds?”

“Socrates, stop making these irresponsible statements and explain yourself!”